


Prose

by Vault_of_Glass



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/Vault_of_Glass
Summary: River spends the night at the state house and gets no work done.kinktober day 2: dirty talk





	Prose

“That better not be work in your hands.”

“Me?” River shifts a stack of papers aside and glances up at Hancock from under her lashes, watching the smirk grow on his face as he leans against the desk beside her.

“Yeah, you.” He props a hand on the edge and dips his head to hold her gaze, bright honey amber staring level back at him. “And don’t gimme that innocent look. I know better'n to fall for that.”

That perfect mouth curls up into a fond smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve been horrible company, haven’t I?”

“You’re never horrible anything.” He lifts a hand to catch a few loose strands of white hair and wind them back over her shoulder. “I can just think of a few better things we could get doin’ at this desk.”

Her smile widens, and a hint of pink rises in her cheeks. “Oh?”

“Been a while since I’ve had ya all to myself.” Hancock strokes a thumb along her bottom lip, and his voice rumbles deeper, lower, fraying into rasp and gravel, and he doesn’t miss the little noise she makes in response. “Let me get you on your back, kitten. I promise ya won’t be thinkin’ about work when I’m through with you.”

She laps her tongue at the pad of his finger, tilting closer, her eyelids low over her eyes. The blush deepens across her cheeks as she presses a kiss to his thumb. “Go on,” she breathes in a throaty voice.

He chuckles, and feels her hum under his touch. Something about his laughter, she told him once, and he can see it now in the way she sways toward him like a magnet. “I’ve been dyin’ to get you across this desk since the first time I saw you. Throw those perfect fuckin’ legs over my shoulders and eat you ‘til you scream.”

River catches her lip between her teeth and bites back a short, whiny moan, the supply reports strewn across his desk now seemingly forgotten.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, princess?” He catches her chin in his hand and she leans eagerly into his touch. “My mouth on you, on that heaven between your legs. If you knew how fuckin’ good you taste…”

“John -” She  _begs_  his name, and fuck, that’s nice, that’s  _really_  nice, he can take on the world and a half after watching River Bautista melt to the sound of his voice.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’ll give it to you.”

River sucks in a shaky breath and drops her gaze to the shape of his smirk. “Please, John. Touch me.”

Hancock growls low in his throat and kisses her, feels her lips parting beneath his own, soft and starved, her hands gripping desperately at his coat to keep him close. She whines when he nibbles teeth at her lip, soothing over with his tongue, drinking down every greedy, velvet noise she voices. In one sweep of his arms, he has her on his desk, those shapely hips in his hands, and far too many buttons of her flannel still fastened.

“Take your clothes off, kitten,” Hancock breathes at the curve of her throat, sucking a lovebite into her neck. “Want to see every inch of that beautiful body.”

She fumbles clumsy fingers at her shirt, moaning under his mouth, one leg hooked around the back of his knee. The desk creaks under their weight as she shrugs free from her blouse, tossing it thoughtlessly aside, and he works the latches of her bra open with one skilled twist of his fingers. She sends the stack of papers flying in a flurry of pages before sprawling out across his desk, pale and soft against dark wood, watching him with hungry eyes as he looms over her.

River glows almost gold in the dim light flickering from a nearby lantern, white hair spilled out around her shoulders. She helps him tug the faded jeans down her legs until he has her bare before him, and with all of her waiting and eager at his disposal, he doesn’t know where to start. He drags in a deep, steadying breath and draws his hands slow and easy down her sides. “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

She smells like sun and soap when he dips his mouth to her shoulder, like smoke and cotton and vanilla, and she whimpers at his lips and teeth questing lower, claiming the rosy bud of a nipple. Her hips shudder against him, and she whines his name, grasping gentle fingertips at the back of his neck. He grips one hand around the flesh of her hip and takes her thigh into the other, parting pale, muscled legs and groaning at the glisten of slick between them.

River pants a shy little sound. “Your voice,” she explains, more breath than voice.

“Oh, I know it, kitten.” He swipes two fingers down the length of her sex, wet heat warm and silky at his fingertips, and River twitches under his touch. He lifts his hand and sucks the taste of her from his fingers, savoring the blush that burns across her cheeks as she watches in rapt attention. “All wet for me already. Such a good girl.”

Satisfaction glows in her features at the praise, and then Hancock is kneeling between her legs, dropping his mouth to the slick, pink folds of her sex and laving his tongue in one long, determined stroke that has her thighs trembling on either side of him. He hears her gasp his name, then the scrape of her nails at the surface of his desk, and he hopes in a wild, errant thought that she ends up leaving scratch marks behind with those wicked little claws of hers. That he can look back on them later and remember her like this, with her legs over his shoulders and the wet iron taste of her on his tongue.

He would spend the rest of his very long life right here between her thighs if he could, sucking eager, messy kisses at her skin, working his tongue in firm, sharp coils around the bud of her clit. River wails and sobs above him, trying and failing to stifle her desperate noises into the back of her hand, and he doesn’t mind a bit, wants all of fucking Goodneighbor to hear her when she finally comes with a quivering scream, those strong, smooth thighs curling tight around his head as he teases every last jolt of pleasure from her body. When her muscles ease and fall limp across the desk, she pushes weakly at his shoulders and whines in protest at the scorching heat of his mouth, too much too soon after the wildfire of her climax.

Hancock pulls away with a grin, licking her from his lips, and River flushes, pink and breathless at the wolfish hunger in the black of his eyes. She watches him tug the tattered flag loose from around his hips, sucking at her bottom lip in anticipation. “Don’t you move an inch, kitten,” he warns her with a wicked smile. “I’m not half through with you yet.”


End file.
